Janelle was already out and in class by the time he woke up the next day, and as he plotted how he’d spent it, he considered how only days ago, he’d been a different man—a man with all the same power, but who’d been too much of a wimp to use it. Since then, he’d remade himself, and he stepped out into the crisp fall air that morning with vigor and purpose.
And he could barely hear the tiny voice in his head begging him to reconsider.
Chapter Six
There were only three days until the halls closed for fall break. DJ spent them going through his usual routine: work, class, hanging around the dorm—with a few pleasant modifications. He had an exam in history on Thursday; he did his best, then had the professor give him an answer key so he could see how well he would have done. B+, as it turned out—not bad for not having studied. He changed the answers to match the key, then turned it in.
For her part, Dr. Missy adhered to her assigned dress code, arriving in class in a tank top and miniskirt. The skirt might have technically been a little longer than he’d indicated, but it was pretty close, and the tank top was many sizes too small for her, probably the biggest she could find that would still be short enough to reveal her “BITCH FROM HELL” tattoo. She definitely looked uncomfortable in it. Still, DJ hadn’t told her she could wear a bra, so before class started he approached the podium and had her remove it; her balking meant she had to lose her panties too. (She’d opened her mouth to complain before he’d told her to consider what she’d lose next, then handed them both over.) She didn’t even lash out at the inevitable snickers when she turned her back and everyone got a good look at her ink.
DJ had intended to fuck her, but frankly from all the sex he was having around the dorm, he was pretty worn out. He’d done a little analysis; of the thirty-two girls on his floor, he’d be interested in sleeping with fifteen. Just under half, not so bad for random selection (or at least, random selection of college co-eds). A few of them were borderline such that his mind might change if he got to know them better, but after Jillian at the floor meeting and Janelle the day after (turns out his night-time gropings had inspired a desire for morning sex), that still left thirteen to get through before he’d feel the need to get curious. (Twelve if one counted the shower with Stacey and the blowjob that accompanied it; he didn’t.)
He figured on doing an inspection a day or so. His first day was with Cassie, an international student from Germany. She wasn’t the hottest girl on the floor, but she was still pretty, and her accent was unusual enough in his experience that it her somewhat exotic (oddly, considering DJ was half German himself). A dirty talking German was just… well, not a kink he ever thought he’d have, but hey, now he could have all the kinks he wanted. (“Oh ja,” she’d said, “shtick your fot cock in mine poosy.” What’s not lovable about that?
His second daily inspection, however, was not deliberate at all. It was Thursday night; half the floor had already left for fall break, and the quiet was perfect for eavesdropping. Some RAs were the sort to relish in this, as an ideal opportunity to overhear activities meant to be clandestine; DJ was more the sort to miss the background noise that kept him from having to hear girls bickering, guys shouting at their video games, Brittney’s boyfriend yelling he was under no circumstances going to start using a condom.
Wait, what?
Brittney was undisputedly the hottest girl on the floor, maybe the hottest girl in the building. Tall, long legs, hourglass figure, big teardrop tits, gorgeous face with long dirty blonde hair and wide blue eyes… she was one of those girls one wondered why she wasn’t in modeling, or pornography, or something that made use of her jack-pot-winning genes. Then DJ found out she was a model—not a major one, but she’d been in magazines. Before that, she’d been homecoming queen of her high school. She’d been encouraged to pledge every non-academic sorority on campus, and had standing invitations to any frat party she wanted to go to. In DJ’s life experience, she was one of those girls who balanced out people like him, people who soaked up no attention at all. She was the sort of person who made it possible for him to be invisible. Hell, her roommate Mercedes (yes, Mercedes) had been prom queen at that same high school and was objectively at least an 8 herself, and Brittney nearly made her invisible.
Brittney’s room was four doors down, just past the swinging door that nominally separated the genders on the floor, but her boyfriend’s voice—whose name DJ couldn’t remember offhand—was loud enough that none of the barriers blocked it completely. Curious, and perhaps a bit worried, DJ headed down the hall and stopped outside the door.
Up close, he could make out Brittney’s comparatively smaller voice. “I told you, Brayden”—UGH that’s right his name is Brayden, of course it is—“it’s the new rule. I could get in a lot of trouble if I get caught not using one.”
“A lot of trouble? What the fuck are you talking about?” he thundered.
“All kinds of things! There are fines, and… I dunno, I missed the floor meeting ‘cause you wanted to Netflix and chill, but I heard it was like super super serious, all kinds of crazy penalties. I didn’t believe it at first, but I heard it’s already being enforced.”
“Well I don’t give a fuck what the rules are, I’m not wearing no fuckin’ condom. Now get your ass over here and get the lube.” His voice dropped to a sort of grumble. “‘Wear a condom’ my ass. Loose as you are I can barely feel you as it is, you fuckin’ ho.”
A little sobbing sound, he thought. “Oh fuck, don’t start crying on me now, Brit. Damnit, every time you get upset it’s the waterworks. It’s not fair, always trying to make me feel like I’m some asshole every time your tender little feelings get hurt.”
“I’m not crying,” she insisted in a plaintive tone that definitely sounded like she was.
Finally, DJ had heard enough and opened the door. Brittney was sitting on her bed, indeed not crying but looking close to it, and Brayden was standing over her. He definitely looked the part of the archetypical bro, hat on backwards, track pants, $400 sneakers, corporate logo proudly emblazoned on his t-shirt. Brittney was dressed for lounging around the dorm in just a blank tank top and sweatpants. God, even in that she looked amazing.
“Oh, hey JD,” Brittney said. He was so used to hot girls not knowing his name he didn’t even wince at the error. “Sorry if we were being loud.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “No, I just heard you guys arguing, wanted to make sure everything’s OK…?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” she said, glancing nervously at Brayden. It was the sound of someone trying to soothe a savage beast.